The Road in Front of You
by nicnac918
Summary: There was a lot Ford didn't know about portal potties. Perhaps most importantly, he didn't know that they had a sort of sapience of their own. That if you caught one on the right day when it was in the right mood, it would transport you to the one place in the world that you most needed to be. Another thing Ford didn't know about portal potties: how to tell them from a porta potty.
1. Chapter 1

The one bright side to this situation was Ford had gotten to use the facilities in the portal potty this time before it transported him, so at least he wasn't having to hold it as he dealt with being stranded out in the desert somewhere. He hadn't even realized they contained functioning restrooms. Actually, come to think of it there was a lot he didn't know about the portal potties; after his first experience with being transported by one, he had decided to leave them alone. Clearly that was an oversight on his part that needed to be rectified. If nothing else, he needed a through enough knowledge of them that he wouldn't accidentally attempt to use one of them again thinking it to be a normal outhouse.

Another few strokes of luck – and Ford was willing to cling to all the luck he could get at the moment – he had been deposited next to a paved and reasonably well-maintained road, and because he had been at that carnival with Fiddleford prior to his ill-fated bathroom break, Ford had his wallet on him. The road was rather small with only one lane in either direction, but he couldn't imagine it taking more than a few hours before a car willing to pick up a hitchhiker passed by, and this time Ford would only need a ride as far as the nearest bus station.

Looking westward down the road, Ford didn't see much of anything but more desert. To the east, he could see a city skyline in the distance, which normally would mean that was the direction he should start heading in. However, also eastward there was a car in the distance heading toward Ford, so Ford turned to start heading west as well. In his admittedly limited and anecdotal experience, cars were more willing to pick up a hitchhiker if that hitchhiker had been walking in the same direction they were heading. They also tended to be more receptive if Ford had a story for why he was hitchhiking that wasn't "I ran afoul of a space-warping structure masquerading as an outhouse." The two best received stories were "backpacking cross-country and had my gear stolen" and "a bachelor party prank gone horribly wrong." It was hard to tell at the present distance, but he thought the car heading his way was bright red which had him leaning toward the bachelor party story, but he would wait until he saw the person or people in the car before he came to a final decision.

Ford continued glancing over his shoulder as the car came closer. He was starting to get the feeling he recognized the car. But that was, well, not impossible technically, but improbable in the extreme. Really, all he could tell at this point is it was a red sedan with a white top. That could describe a lot of cars, and it was only his mind playing tricks on him, filling in the details he couldn't see with ones that were familiar to him. Even when it became clear that the car really was the make and model he had thought, there were still a lot of cars around the world that looked like that. It was a coincidence.

It had to be a coincidence, he told himself, and kept right on telling himself until the car pulled to a stop alongside the road – without Ford ever having stuck his thumb out, mind – giving him a clear view of the license plate reading "STNLYMBL." He watched in mingled shock and a myriad of other emotions he couldn't even begin to name as his estranged twin brother got out of the car.

"Stanford?" his brother asked, clearly in a state of equal shock.

"Hello, Stanley," Ford said. He licked his lips nervously. He really, really wished he had been wrong about the car. But he hadn't been, and needs must. "Do you think you could give me a ride?"

Stan stared at him blankly for another long moment before swearing very empathically at the air. "Dammit Rico, when you said you were giving me the good stuff, I didn't think you meant something that was going to give me delayed hallucinatory reaction. And not even a fun hallucination."

"Are you driving while intoxicated right now?" Ford asked incredulously. He knew Stan had become a thief and a charlatan over the past 10 years, but that took irresponsibility to a whole different level.

"Of course not," Stan said. "I would never risk the Stanleymobile like that."

"So good of you to be worried about the safety of those around you," Ford said sarcastically.

"Hey, they can look out for themselves same as I look out for myself," Stan snapped back reflexively. He paused then, taking a moment to look Ford over again. "You really are here right now, aren't you?"

"Unfortunately," Ford said. In more ways than one.

"Okay, so follow-up question: what the hell are you doing in Arizona out in the middle of the desert?"

Ah, so that's where he was. Well it could have been better, though probably not too much better with the desert landscape as a given, but it also could have been much, much worse. "Would you believe a bachelor party prank gone horribly wrong?" Ford asked.

"Not from you, no," Stan said.

"What about a cross-country backpacking trip?" Stan continued to stare at him and said nothing. "I ran afoul of a space-warping structure masquerading as an outhouse, and it transported me here?" Ford tried.

"Okay, that's the most made-up sounding thing yet, but yeah, I'll believe it," Stan said.

Ford blinked in surprise. "You will?"

"Sure, why not? That's your job now, right? You're getting paid all kinds of fancy college money to study supernatural stuff?" said Stan.

"Yes, but how did you know that?" Ford had never told him, obviously. Had someone else? Was Stan still in contact with Ma maybe?

"I have my ways," Stan said dismissively. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. "So. You need a ride back to Oregon?"

"Just to the nearest bus station is fine. I can find my own way home from there," Ford told him.

Stan gave him a long assessing look, like he was trying to figure out what he was going to demand of Ford in exchange for the lift. Ford swore if Stan said one word about treasure hunting, he was going to punch him. "Nah, that's dumb. I'll just give you a ride all the way back to your place. It'll be faster, more direct, cheaper, and you won't have to deal with being in a bus full of strangers."

"I couldn't ask you to do that," Ford protested.

"Yeah, I got that, but I'm telling you I'll do it. It'll only be what, three days? Not even, and I ain't got anything better going on," Stan said.

"Yes, but…" But Ford wasn't entirely certain he wouldn't rather take the bus. It would be a hassle and undoubtedly involve a number of changeovers, but strangers he could ignore at least. How was he supposed to handle being in a small enclosed space with Stan for the next three days?

Stan glared at him. "Get in the damn car, Ford."

"Fine, have it your way." Ford wrenched open the passenger seat and climbed in, slamming the door behind him. "This car is filthy," he said, looking in disgust at the food wrappers and other trash at his feet and on the dash and in the center divider and just stuffed in every crevice of the car.

"You sure know how to be grateful to someone doing you a favor," Stan said. He turned the car back on, threw it into gear, and began speeding down the road.

Ford almost snapped that he hadn't asked Stan for any favors, but that wasn't actually true. Ford had asked for a ride, it was just that Stan had pushed it far beyond anything Ford wanted from him. Still, Ford supposed he was doing him a favor. "Thank you, Stanley," he said stiffly.

"You're welcome," Stan replied, sounding about as sincere as Ford felt. Stan turned the radio on, and despite it only coming in as static initially, he still turned the volume up to near deafening levels before searching for a station.

Ford sighed and turned to look out the window. This was going to be a long car ride.


	2. Chapter 2

Ford spent the next two hours staring out the car window, pretending to be fascinated by the passing landscape. It would have perhaps been a more convincing act if the landscape hadn't been an endless flat desert expanse, making each mile that came and went not particularly different than the last one. Still, it was better than allowing himself any more thorough a look inside Stan's car; who knew what new disgusting pieces of trash he might spot. It also communicated fairly clearly that he wasn't interested in talking. Indeed, he and Stan didn't say a single word to each other for the entire two hours. Not until Stan pulled off at a self-service gas station and explained, rather redundantly, that they needed to fill up on gas.

From the car Ford spotted the unexpected luxury of a payphone outside the little food mart, reminding him of something he really ought to do. He got out of the car and called out to Stan, who was heading inside to pay for the gas. "I'm just going to use the phone here to call my research assistant and let him know what happened."

Stan paused with his hand on the door. "Oh, yeah, sure. Sorry, if you would told me, we could've stopped somewhere sooner."

Not particularly wanting to admit that the idea hadn't occurred to him before now, Ford just said, "It's fine. Fiddleford and I were out when it happened, and he might not even be back yet. I may end up having to leave a message." In fact seeing how absorbed Fiddleford had been in the pig races, he might not have even noticed Ford was missing yet.

Stan nodded, then continued on into the store as Ford walked over to the phone. It rang twice before someone picked up on the other line.

"Hello?" Fiddleford said, which wasn't his normal greeting at all, not to mention the slight frantic tone to his voice. So maybe Ford really should have thought to call earlier.

"Hi. It's me," Ford said.

"Stanford, where in tarnation have you been? You tell me you're going to the restroom, then don't come back and aren't anywhere to be found in the entire carnival; believe me I looked, and I had the staff there looking too by the end of it. If you ran off into the woods after some weird critter and didn't have the decency to tell me first, then I'm going to invent a giant robot hand to smack you with."

"I'm sorry, but I promise my absence was entirely involuntary. I was going to the restroom, but I'm afraid I ended up using a portal potty by mistake," Ford explained.

"A portal potty? I don't think you've told me about that one before. Is it what it sounds like it is?"

"Assuming it sounds like an outhouse that also can teleport you at random, then yes."

"Well, shoot. Are you okay? Where are you; do you need me to come pick you up or wire you some money to buy a ticket home or something?"

"I'm fine. Actually, I coincidentally ended up fairly near to my brother, and he offered to give me a ride back home," Ford told him. Hopefully they could leave it at that.

"Well, that's a fair bit of luck," Fiddleford said.

"Yes, the situation could have been much worse." For example, he could have landed in the middle of the desert with no roads or civilization in sight and be worrying about death by dehydration at the moment, instead of just worrying about dealing with Stan for the next 48 hours. It was important to keep things in perspective.

"Wait a second, doesn't your brother live in Piedmont?" Fiddleford asked. Ford winced. Apparently they weren't just going to leave it at that. "In that case, I'll definitely come pick you up. Why don't you see about spending some time at your brother's house to catch up with him and his family, I'll drive down to Palo Alto to spend a few days with Emma-May and Tate, then I'll come get you, and we'll head back up to Oregon together."

"Ah. About that," Ford said. He scratched the back of his neck nervously. "I wasn't actually referring to Shermie when I said my brother. I was talking about my twin brother, Stanley."

"Stanford Filbrick Pines."

Ford winced again. "I wasn't deliberately keeping him a secret from you."

"Uh-huh," Fiddleford said, each syllable dripping with skepticism.

"I wasn't," Ford insisted. At least, he mostly hadn't been. "There was an incident and some family drama not too long before you and I met, so at the time I really wasn't up for discussing Stan or even thinking about him. By the time I had gotten used to everything and was okay with talking about him, it had been too long and it felt awkward bringing him up."

"Uh-huh."

"Sorry," Ford said. Really, he didn't have to apologize as he was in no way obligated to tell Fiddleford everything about his life just because they were friends. On the other hand, Fiddleford was his friend, one of a very few Ford had, and Ford didn't want him to think he was being deliberately exclusionary.

"No, no, it's alright. The more I think on it, the more sense this is making. How often when you were talking about things you and your brother used to do were you actually talking about this twin rather than your older brother?"

"The vast majority of the time," Ford admitted.

"Yeah, that's what I figured. I always thought it was a little odd how close the two of you sounded as kids compared to how you are now, not to mention the age gap. But if you had a twin brother, and there had been a falling out between you two, that would explain it."

Ford had never considered that his stories might sound odd. Obviously he avoided relating any twin-switching incidents – easy enough since Ford's obvious six-fingered difference meant he and Stan hadn't tried that all that often – but other stories he'd simply related as "my brother and I" and assumed avoiding names would be sufficient. Apparently not. "Well I do have one, so that's mystery solved, I guess."

"That it is. And out of everywhere in the world you could have ended up, you got plopped down right next to your estranged twin, huh?"

"More or less," Ford agreed.

"Well if that ain't Providence at work," Fiddleford said.

It was too bad they were having this conversation via phone, because Ford had an impressively sardonic look he wanted to share with Fiddleford right now. "God did not reunite me with my brother. A toilet did."

"The Lord works in mysteries ways," Fiddleford quoted.

"It was a toilet. A small outdoor shed full of bugs and human feces." Ford could already sense the notions Fiddleford was getting into his head, and he could not undercut them enough.

"I do know what an outhouse is; I'd say I'm a mite bit more familiar with them than you are even. And you know what? The good Lord made them same as everything else. But never mind about that, you're entitled to your beliefs same as anyone, and you can say the toilet was behind it if you like." That was not a belief, it was a fact. The portal potty had done it. "It don't make me no nevermind either way, so long as you don't let this opportunity slip by."

"This is not an opportunity," Ford said bluntly.

"How do you figure that one? You run into your brother who I'm sure you haven't talked to once in the past, what would it be, nine years?"

"More like ten," Ford said.

"Ten years then, and now the two of you are face to face and have what I'm guessing must be a nice long car ride in front of you to sort things out. Sounds like a pretty perfect opportunity to me," Fiddleford said.

"I am not looking to make up with Stan. I just want to get home and put this interlude behind me," Ford told him.

"You might not have been looking for it, but it seems to have found you anyhow. And you know, I think you do want to make up with him."

"You don't know that," Ford snapped. "Look, I understand what you're trying to do here, but you don't know anything about my brother or what he did to me, so I'd appreciate it if you left it alone."

"You're right, you're right, I'm sorry. He's your brother, and it's none of my business how you want to handle your family affairs. I just got one more thing to say, and then I'll leave it be. Maybe I don't know what Stan did to you or what he's like, but for a person I didn't even know existed ten minutes ago, I sure have heard an awful lot about him."

Ford pressed his lips together and didn't say anything. He really didn't have a response to that. After a pause, Fiddleford continued. "Well, I've said my piece now, and I won't say any more. You do what you like, and I'll hold down the fort for you up here until you get back."

"Thank you," Ford said. "I should be back to the house the day after tomorrow, sometime in the late afternoon, early evening probably."

"Okay, well let me know if anything happens and that changes, but otherwise I'll see you then."

"Alright, goodbye," Ford said, then hung up the phone. At the car Stan had already finished pumping the gas, so Ford climbed back in and stared resolutely out the window as they continued down the road.

Fiddleford didn't know what he was talking about. It wasn't his fault that he didn't, since Ford had never told him anything about Stan, but he still shouldn't be trying to give advice on a situation he didn't understand. Sure, Ford was no longer actively angry at Stan. He could spend time down by the lake reminiscing or he could tell Fiddleford stories without getting upset about what had come after. But those childhood adventures had happened a long time ago, and he and Stan were different people now. Ford was a scientist, a researcher poised on the edge of the discovery of a lifetime, while Stan was, as best as Ford could deduce, a traveling snake-oil salesman who accepted drugs of unknown quality and origin from guys named Rico. Ford didn't have space for someone like that in his life. He didn't want someone like that in his life, even not taking in to account what Stan had done to him. And that was not an easy thing to overlook – Stan had ruined his life, because his stupid unfeasible treasure hunting idea had been more important to him than Ford's happiness. This was the person Ford was supposed to want to make up with?

The Arizona desert continued to stretch on outside the window as the miles flew by. Ford found his gaze slowly tripping and sliding past the landscape until it came to focus on Stan in the corner of his eye. The thing of it was, while Ford was absolutely certain Fiddleford didn't know what he was talking about, he was perhaps slightly less certain Fiddleford was completely and entirely wrong. Those childhood adventures had been a long time ago, but at this point so had the hurt. Ford's life had recovered, and despite whatever opportunities he may have missed out on, he was doing what he loved now. Maybe ten years was plenty long enough to hold a grudge and it was time to move on. Maybe if Stan was ready to apologize, then Ford could be ready to forgive him. It would be nice, to move from not being actively angry at Stan to not being angry at all. Maybe it would even be nice after a day reminiscing by the lake to be able to call Stan, as the two of them lived their separate lives, and say, "Hey, do you remember that time when…?" Even if they didn't ever talk again after this road trip, taking the time to clear the air now would mean they could both move forward with a clean slate and one less scar in the back of their minds.

Over the course of the last two and a half hours or so, Stan and Ford had taken turn surreptitiously inching down the radio from the deafeningly high volume Stan had set it at initially. They had never adjusted it by very much at any given time, neither of them wanting it to seem as though they were inviting conversation, but the cumulative effect meant it was now quiet enough in the car that they could each hear themselves think. It was also quiet enough that they could hear each other talk, if either of them were so inclined to speak. Or if Ford could think of anything to say.

The traditional approach when trying to make up after a fight was to open with an apology, but Ford didn't have anything to apologize for. Stan was the one who had been in the wrong. Stan was the one who should apologize, but even Ford could see beginning things with a demand for an apology was not going to be conducive to a productive conversation, regardless of how much he was owed one. Blurting out "Let's talk about that time you ruined my life, because I'm still angry at you for that," didn't seem to be a great tack either.

Luckily, as Ford was racking his brain for some way to open a dialogue, the road sign that had appeared in the distance a while ago finally got close enough to be read. Perfect. He would start with small talk about their trip, and then guide the conversation from there to their decade's worth of unresolved issues. Somehow.

"Are we going to be going through California; is it not slower than going up through Nevada? Gravity Falls is on the eastern side of Oregon," Ford said.

Stan's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "We can't go through Nevada."

"Why not?" Ford asked, causing Stan's hands to shift and tighten on the steering wheel yet again and his jaw to work. Ford didn't know why; he wasn't trying to be confrontational. It was a genuine question. Ford's general knowledge of where they were and his recollection of US geography suggested that Gravity Falls was north-northwest whereas California was west-northwest, meaning they would eventually have to cut back east if they drove through that way. However, Stan was the more well-traveled of the two of them, and Ford was willing to trust his judgement as to the fastest route. He just wanted to know the whys behind it.

"Because," Stan said without elaborating.

"Because why?" Really, Ford was trying to make polite, civil conversation here, and as Stan was the one who insisted on them spending all this time together the very least he could do was make an equal effort here.

"Because I'm banned from Nevada."

"What, the whole state?" Ford said, laughing a little at the joke. Except Stan wasn't laughing back. "Wait, are you seriously banned from the entire state of Nevada? That's…" horrifying "… impressive." It was both really. "How do you even accomplish something like that? Did you really piss someone off in Las Vegas?"

"Nah, they love me in Vegas," Stan said easily.

"Of course they do," Ford said because, well, of course they did. A personality like Stan's was made for Las Vegas.

Stan was glancing at him sidelong now. Ford's non-confrontational intentions must have showed on his face, because a small grin began to grow on Stan's face. It was a hesitant grin, but an intimately familiar one full of mischief. It was the grin that said they were about to get into a lot of trouble and have a whole lot of fun doing it. "You want to hear how I got banned from Nevada?"

"Sure. How did you get banned from Nevada?" Ford had never been able to say no to that grin.

"It all started when I was in this bar in Carson City and this smoking hot babe walks in…" Stan had always been a bombastic storyteller with natural showmanship flair, and the past ten years had only amplified that ability. Right from the beginning the story was so ridiculous and over-the-top and just so _Stan_ that Ford couldn't help but to smile. The smile grew to chuckles and pretty soon Ford was laughing out loud. Each time he did, Stan would almost immediately up the ante on the story, like he was taking every laugh as a personal challenge to make Ford laugh even harder the next time. It was a challenge he was handily succeeding at, so that by the time he reached the end Ford's stomach was starting to get sore.

"…So there I am soaking wet, still in the elf costume, and I don't know who wants to kill me more, the governor or his little yappy dog. I can see it in the governor's eyes how badly he wants to lay into me, just really cuss me out, but he can't because all the kids are right there. So finally he says, 'I think it's time for you to go back to the North Pole and _stay there_.' Then he storms off and all the kids start cheering. And that's the story of how I got banned from the state of Nevada and saved Christmas."

Ford took a moment to catch his breath, then, still grinning, asked, "How much of that story was actually true?"

Stan shrugged. "Eh, like half of it maybe. I hate to have to tell you this, mostly because you're a grown man and Jewish, but Santa's not actually real."

Ford gave Stan a light shove "I did know that, thank you. I am the paranormal researcher here."

"Right, so how is that – ah, crap." As Stan was speaking he had reached up to lower his sun visor causing a piece of paper or something flutter down and land at Ford's feet. Ford bent down to grab it, only to have Stan immediately try to snatch it away again. "Here, I'll just…"

Ford didn't let him have it. He looked down at the picture in his hands and smiled. It was one of the two of them, back when they had probably been about sixteen. They were in the old boxing gym, looking at one another and laughing as Stan had Ford in a loose headlock and Ford was making a mock punch to Stan's chest. For some reason it reminded Ford of the picture he had tucked safely away in his desk drawer, the one of him and Stan out on their newly claimed boat. Ford took his time looking at the photo, and only then handed it back to Stan. "That's a good picture of us."

"Uh, yeah, I thought so. I mean, it's the only one I've got, but I thought it was a good one." Stan carefully reaffixed the picture with its worn tape to the visor, then flipped the visor back up. That left him squinting right into the setting sun, but Ford decided not to press the issue.

"You had something you were going to ask me?" he prompted.

"Yeah." Stan cleared his throat. "Yeah, I just, you know I told you a bit about what I've been up to the last ten years –"

"Saving Christmas apparently," Ford said.

"Exactly," Stan agreed. "So I was wondering what you've been up to, the whole paranormal research thing. It sounds like the same kind of stuff you liked to do when we were kids, and that's got to be pretty nice. Getting paid to do the kind of stuff you'd be doing for free anyway."

"It's not exactly like when we were children. This is serious research, very thorough, data collection and analysis and…" That was about as long as Ford could keep the solemn expression up, and he broke into a giddy grin. "And it's amazing. It's exactly the kind of work I dreamed about doing, but better."

"So tell me about it. I promise that I'll try not to let your nerd babble put me to sleep," Stan teased.

"You better not fall asleep while you're driving," Ford said.

"Good point. Maybe we ought to wait until we stop for the night. You'll start talking and I'll drift right off to bed."

"Hey!" Ford objected "I'll have you know that a lot of my work is very exciting."

"Oh, yeah?" Stan said.

"Yeah," Ford shot back.

"Prove it." Stan was grinning at him again, like trouble, like a challenge, like a brother. As Ford launched into the tale of his recent encounter with a gremloblin, he thought to himself that no, Fiddleford definitely hadn't been completely and entirely wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

After the initial difficulties with getting it started, the conversation flowed between the two of them easily, like the last ten years had never happened. Almost exactly like they had never happened, since Ford had never managed to steer the discussion to why the two of them hadn't seen each other in ten years. Though that phrasing might imply Ford had made an effort to do so, and quite honestly he hadn't really. At all. It was just that things were going so well, and Ford started thinking maybe spending some time together companionably could be sufficient to clear the air between them without ever even needing to have what would undoubtedly be a difficult and emotionally fraught conversation. It was probably a terrible plan, but it was also a terribly appealing one, so Ford was sticking with it for now.

As the night drew later, about an hour after they had crossed the state line into California, Stan pulled over at a motel for them to stay the night. Once he'd parked and before they had even had a chance to check in, Stan declared his intention to go through his car and clean it out some, a decision which Ford fully endorsed. He even offered to help, but he was quick to take the out when Stan turned him down and told him to go get them a room instead. Ford was trying to foster a reconciliatory feeling, but Stan's car was truly disgusting.

Ford got them a room and went to give it a quick look over before committing to it fully. The motel wasn't in a bad enough area that cockroaches and mysterious and frightening stains were an absolute guarantee, but it wasn't in a nice enough area that they weren't a concern. After confirming the relative cleanliness of the room, Ford ducked back outside to give Stan the room number, only to be surprised by the prodigious amount of stuff Stan had had packed into his car. No wonder it had gotten so messy; it looked like Stan had packed half his life up for his trip to… wherever he had been heading before he had agreed to the detour up to Gravity Falls.

All that accomplished, Ford went back to the room and took a nice, long shower. He wasn't a huge fan of bathing normally, but between being in the hot Arizona desert while dressed for October in Oregon and the time spent in Stan's car, he felt in desperate need of cleaning.

As he was drying off after the shower and getting dressed – unfortunately having to use the same dirty pair boxers and undershirt as pajamas for lack of other options – he heard Stan come into the room and turn the TV on. "Hey Sixer, that sci-fi show you like is on TV, the Something Whatever Star one," Stan called through the door. "At least I think it's that one; it looks kind of different than I remember."

"Wagon Train to the Stars?" Ford asked hopefully as he came out of the bathroom and looked at the TV. "Oh, this is the film of it. Did you know it was actually the first movie to be shot entirely in slow motion; it's very cerebral."

"Huh," Stan said. "It looks really… beige. Beige and gray."

"Yes, they changed the aesthetics up a little as compared to the show."

"A little? The show had way more color than this, and that was back when we were watching it on a black and white TV."

"I didn't say it was a good change," Ford said. "Still, it's a very enjoyable movie. I've actually been meaning to watch it again before the new movie comes out next year."

Stan shrugged and plopped back on one of the two beds. "Alright then. But you're going to have to remind me which character is which."

Ford blinked in surprise, then brightened. "Of course. I'd be happy to." He hadn't expected Stan to agree to watch the movie with him; his brother had never liked the show when they were younger. Though now that Ford was thinking about it, as often as Stan had asked Ford to change the channel or go do something else altogether when Wagon Train to the Stars had come on, there had been just as many times when Stan had sat down to watch it with him. It might not have been Stan's favorite show, but hanging out together had always been their favorite thing to do, and they had both been willing to make compromises for each other. Right up until they hadn't, but Ford wasn't thinking about that right now.

Instead he would think about how nice it was to be watching a movie, regardless of which it was, with Stan again. Back after he had first met Fiddleford, Ford had often thought to himself how nice it was to finally have a friend who had the same taste in TV and movies as he did. And that part of it was nice, except… Except the Pines family had always treated TV watching as a participant sport, keeping up a near constant and often obnoxious commentary. Ford had gotten used to talking while watching TV, but even thoughtful comments tended to get a glare from Fiddleford, who thought TV should be watched quietly, and commentary should wait until a commercial break. Watching the movie again now with Stan constantly poking fun, Ford found that it wasn't nearly as good as he remembered it, but it was at least twice as enjoyable.

Altogether this little road trip Ford had been dreading was going surprisingly well. The car was still stuffed, but relatively clean now, the scenery had made a marked improvement in terms of visual interest, and the company was actually quite pleasant. Yes, things were going very well indeed, which made it doubly surprising when they very abruptly weren't.

The issue, as best Ford could tell, had started the following morning when he had pointed out a diner right near the freeway onramp and suggested they stop for breakfast before they got going for the day. There had been a brief moment when Ford had thought Stan was going to shut the idea down, but it had passed, and he had pulled the car over. Breakfast itself had gone fine – Stan asking more about what Ford had been up to the past ten years, and Ford managing to cajole a few mostly made-up stories out of Stan as well – but Stan had started to get weird and twitchy again as their meal drew to a close. Ford had been just about to ask him if something was wrong when Stan had suddenly launched up and excused himself to the bathroom. It was odd behavior, but Ford hadn't been going to worry about it until he had pulled his wallet out to cover the check the waitress had just brought and realized he saw a pattern emerging.

Ford looked down at his open wallet frowning for a minute before pulling out enough cash to cover the bill and tip and throwing it down on the table. The pattern, or rather what the pattern implied, didn't bother him so much in itself, he decided. He just didn't care for the subterfuge surrounding it.

Ford got out of the booth and went to wait for Stan outside the door to the men's room, as it was closer to the entrance anyway. Stan came out a moment later. "Hey, you need to use the john too?"

"No, just ready to go," Ford said, and the two of them headed back out to the car. "Stanley… were you wanting me to pay for everything on this trip?"

"What're you talking about?" Stan said, just a little too fast.

"Well, there was last night when you had me go ahead to get the motel room, then when we ordered the pizza and you decided to take a shower right before it was supposed to arrive, and then just now when you got up to use the bathroom right as our waitress was bringing the check out. It seems like maybe you planned those things out deliberately so that I would be the only one available to pay for them."

"What, no. That's crazy talk; you're talking crazy," Stan said, then quickly ducked inside the car.

Ford climbed in after him. "It doesn't bother me if you want me to pay for things; I'd just rather know so you don't have to come up with excuses to duck out."

"I already told you Ford, you're talking crazy. Besides, I'm the one who paid for gas yesterday, ain't I?"

"Yes, but…" But Stan was acting too squirrely now for Ford not to be on to something. "I realize that a fifteen hundred mille road trip isn't something you had budgeted for, so if you wanted me to cover the expenses-"

"Are you saying you don't think I can afford to buy breakfast from a lousy diner?" Stan snapped.

"No, that's not what I'm saying at all," Ford said.

"Because just because I don't have all your fancy college money, that doesn't mean I gotta rely on your charity to take care of myself."

"Why are you getting so defensive? Where is this even coming from?" Ford asked.

"I'm not being defensive. You're being a condescending asshole," Stan said.

"No, I'm not," said Ford, completely baffled by the turn this conversation had taken. "I am trying to be helpful. You're doing me a huge favor, and I know driving all the way up to Oregon is not something you planned or wanted to do, so I-"

"Ford you better shut your yap right now before I pull this car over and punch you straight in the face," Stan bit out.

Ford stared at him, mouth agape. "Stanley, you're being ridiculous."

And there went the radio again. Ford was extremely tempted to turn the music off and keep yelling at Stan until he started making sense, but he stifled the urge. His brother was just impossible to deal with sometimes, and right now felt like one of those times. Ford would give him a half an hour or so to cool down, then they could actually talk about whatever had set him off for no reason.

Several hours later and the radio was still on. Ford was relatively certain the LA traffic was at least partially at fault for keeping Stan's anger going, but he really would have expected him to be over it by now. Ford kept glancing at the radio and glancing at Stan, waiting for him to reach over to turn the music off. Then he would turn to Ford and, not apologize, Stan was terrible about apologizing, but maybe make a self-deprecating remark about his overreaction or possibly start up a new thread of conversation entirely. But it kept not happening.

Shortly before noon Stan pulled off at a fast food restaurant. It seemed a little early for lunch, but Ford wasn't going to complain; maybe getting out of the car would pull Stan out of his mood as well. But even as Ford reached for his door handle Stan barked at him to wait in the car and then went inside alone. Ford was this close to following his brother anyway, but he crossed his arms and leaned back into his car seat, fuming. He was starting to get really irritated with Stan's attitude, but not enough that he wanted to cause a scene inside a cheap burger joint.

This could not be allowed to continue. Firstly, it would be torture to spend the whole rest of the day today and the majority of tomorrow stuck in a car and a cold war with Stan, especially after yesterday proved they were still capable of having a good time together. Secondly, this would be a stupid way to leave things between them if it came to that. Just completely moronic. Not that they had left things off too great the last time, but at least that fight had had some weight and meaning behind it. Now what, they weren't going to talk for another ten years because Ford had made an innocuous comment that Stan had decided to take offense at? No, absolutely not. When Stan got back Ford was going to force him talk to him, no matter what it took.

Stan returned to the car a few minutes later and literally threw the bag of food at Ford. "There you go, lunch, bought and paid for." He somehow even managed to make the act of climbing into the car aggressive. For a moment Ford seriously reconsidered the feasibility of just popping him one. No, no fights in the fast food parking lot. Besides, honey, not vinegar.

"I'm sorry," Ford said, with genuine sincerity. Stan looked at him practically flabbergasted, and honestly just that made it worth it. "I've no clue what or why, but obviously something I said offended you for some reason, so I'm sorry."

After he had adjusted to his surprise, Stan's expression took on a set, mulish cast, but one that was significantly less so than it had been ten minutes ago. "I'm not a damn taxi. You don't have to pay me to take you back home."

"Okay," Ford said. He was still uncertain why Stan had gotten so upset, but he had no problem with not paying for things if that was what Stan wanted.

"I offered to drive you back to Oregon because I wanted to. I thought maybe it'd be nice."

"It was nice of you," Ford assured him. "That's why I was offering to cover the expense of the trip if you wanted me to; I was trying to be nice too."

"That's not what I –" Stan sighed. "Yeah, sure, okay," Stan said. "How about I'll keep paying for gas and you keep paying for our food and for our room tonight too."

"That sounds fair," Ford said. He'd be happy to pay for the gas too, but he knew better than to say as much now that they'd finally gotten the issue resolved, especially as Ford still wasn't entirely clear on what the issue had been. Besides, if he was trying to cover gas too, it would start stretching the cash he had on hand pretty thin anyway.

"Alright. And another thing: I'm sorry too," Stan said.

"You did overreact a little this morning," Ford said, smiling to make it clear he was only teasing.

"Well, yeah that too, but I meant _I'm sorry_. You know, for everything."

There was significant weight to the way he'd said the words, but it still took Ford a minute to realize what he meant by them. "Oh." That was unexpected. But good. Definitely good. It was really, really… good.

"Maybe it's not a big deal, since everything worked out okay even without you getting into your fancy college, but I still wanted to tell you that before... And, well, what with you apologizing to me just now, it seemed like a good time to say it," Stan said, his eyes staring very fixedly at the road in front of him.

It was a big deal; not getting into one of if not the most prestigious school in the country was a huge deal, but… Stan apologizing of his own initiative and volition was a big deal too. And, as it turned out, Ford really was ready to forgive him after all. "Thank you. I – thank you… Did you want to talk about what happened?"

"I don't _want_ to, no," Stan said. He sounded very much as though he was expected to be dragged into the conversation kicking and screaming regardless.

"I don't want to talk about it either," Ford admitted, to Stan's very apparent relief.

"Okay. So are we okay then?" Stan asked.

"I think so," Ford said, then with more conviction, "Yes. We are okay. We're good."

"Okay. Good," Stan said. And, hopefully, that was that.


	4. Chapter 4

Despite their mutual agreement things were okay between them now, it still took another twenty minutes if not a half an hour afterward for the conversation to return to a comfortable easy pace. For Ford's part, he couldn't stop thinking of the one thing the two of them just agreed they weren't going to talk about, and he suspected Stan might have be suffering the same problem. Still, they were both stubborn individuals and by sheer force of will they were eventually able to get their conversation back on track. And it was a quite pleasant and enjoyable track.

It was astonishing the difference twenty-four hours had made. Fiddleford still hadn't known what he was talking about, that was an objective fact, but maybe Ford hadn't known what he was talking about either. Or maybe he hadn't remembered what he was talking about? No, that wasn't quite right. Because he did remember the good times he and Stan had shared as children and all the fun they'd had together. The thing of it was, he also remembered what Stan had done to him the last time they saw each other. Ford had taken that and all Stan's flaws and the things he did to annoy him, plus that one commercial he had watched in gaped-mouth disbelief – the total sham? Really? – and put that all together to extrapolate who his brother had become in the past ten years. But that image in his head didn't properly reflect who Stan actually was at all. It was a more like the funhouse mirror version of him, with the flaws ballooned out and the good traits shrunken in. And yes, Stan was different now than he had been – really it would be more concerning if he hadn't changed from seventeen to twenty-seven – but he wasn't a different person. He was still the brother who had always been ready to jump to Ford's defense or jump into an adventure or jump to anything really, if it involved the two of them as a team.

That wasn't to say he didn't still have his flaws. If Ford was reading between the lines of Stan's stories correctly, there were a number of less than savory characters his brother had gotten involved with over the years, and Ford still wanted no part of guys named Rico that handed out drugs of unknown quality and origin. But if Stan was willing to keep his extra-legal activities to the side and separate, then maybe the rest of him of something Ford did want in his life again. Maybe. Probably.

It was a good thing Fiddleford wasn't prone to "I-told-you-so's." If it had been Stan, then he'd have been insufferably smug about it for weeks. Perhaps the most amazing thing about that thought was it didn't annoy Ford. Or at least, it didn't annoy him any more than brothers should annoy each other. And that realization made him really happy in a way he hadn't been in a very long time. Not that he wasn't happy in general, he was very happy with his life, but there was a different quality to this happiness, new, but old and nostalgic at the same time.

If Ford were to hazard a guess, he would say it was that suffusion of family feeling that caused his mind to make the connection it did as he was looking over the map of California he'd picked up last night – he trusted Stan knew where he was going, but Ford liked to be able to see it for himself as well. "This is where we are right now, right? In Stockton?" Ford asked, pointing at the city on the map.

It was about five in the evening now, and the two of them were sitting at a picnic table outside of a truck stop. They had stopped there to fill the car up as Stan said truck stops tended to have better food than normal gas stations and they always had fresh coffee. Stan looked up from the sandwich he was eating and nudged Ford's finger over toward the junction of Highway 4 and Interstate 5. "That's where we're at."

Even better. "Look, that puts us almost due east of Shermie's house. We're probably only about an hour away," Ford said, tracing a line across the map from their current location to dot labeled Oakland. "Oh, I don't know if you knew, but Shermie actually moved to Piedmont, California about… it must have been seven years ago now."

"Yeah, I know," Stan said. Ford supposed that wouldn't be surprising if his theory about Stan staying in touch with Ma held true. "But that's really probably more like two hours from here."

"Really?" Ford asked, frowning at the map. It didn't look that far.

"Yeah. I mean look here at the 4 going through this area here where there's basically nothing and you're driving along this waterway so it's probably underdeveloped and narrow and windy, then you've got to take this big loop way out of the way up north and once you get into real civilization you're going to hit all kinds of traffic-"

"On a Sunday evening?"

"Hey, we're right close to San Francisco and big cities always have traffic. Yeah, definitely at least a two hour trip, maybe more," Stan said.

"If you say so," Ford allowed. "Even still, I think we should make the detour and go see him. Two hours would put us getting there at about seven, then would could stay the night there. Wouldn't it be nice to have a chance to catch up with him again?"

"So what, you want to just show up at his doorstep?" Stan said,

"Well we could call first, but can you imagine the look on Shermie's face if he opened his door to find the two of us there?" They had always been a little too intimidated as kids to prank Shermie as much as younger brothers should; maybe now was the time to make up for that.

Stan expression suggested he didn't agree. "It's a bad idea. We go there tonight then we waste the rest of the evening when we could be driving closer to your place, meaning we'd either have twelve hours to drive tomorrow to get you home or we don't get to Gravity Falls until the day after tomorrow. Or we drive down 5 for three more hours, stop in Redding tonight and get you home tomorrow in time for dinner."

"I understand it would create a bit of a delay, but I think it would be worth it to have some time to catch up with Shermie. I know he'd be glad to see us. And Robbie, you haven't seen him since he was an infant and he's ten years old now; don't you want to see your nephew?"

Ford thought for sure that would change Stan's mind. He'd been ecstatic back when Robbie had been born; Ford could remember Ma joking about Stan being more excited to be an uncle than Shermie was to be a dad. Stan's expression did soften, but only for a moment before he was shaking his head. "Sure, it'd be nice, but that's losing too much time. We can't throw our schedule off that much."

"Why not?" Yes, Ford was eager to get home, but he wasn't in a rush, and Stan hadn't seemed particularly pressed for time either. He had certainly never expressed any concern for the schedule before Ford had brought up the idea of visiting Shermie. He eyed his brother suspiciously. "What are you hiding?"

"I'm not hiding anything. I'm just saying it'll take too long, and I'm the one driving, so we're not doing it," Stan said.

"Stanley..."

"Stanford. No." Stan crossed his arms, making it clear that was his final word on the subject.

"Fine." Stan was definitely hiding something. If he wouldn't tell Ford what it was, then Ford could think of one other person who might know. He stood up abruptly. "I'm going to use the restroom. I might be a little while; I think the fast food earlier didn't agree with me."

"Stanford," Stan repeated, the warning tone having not yet left his voice.

"What?" Ford said. He did his best to look innocent, though he wasn't sure how successful he was. He wasn't a bad liar, he was just… really good at telling the truth.

Stan looked at him for a long minute, then sighed. "Fine, whatever, go to 'the bathroom.'"

"Is there something wrong with me going to the restroom?" Ford said, feeling oddly defensive of his right to use the bathroom, despite having no intention of doing so.

"No. You're going to do it sooner or later no matter what I say, so might as well get it over with."

"You're acting weird," Ford said.

"No, _you're_ acting weird. Just go," said Stan.

"Okay. I will." Ford went inside the food mart and for a minute was tempted to actually go to the bathroom, just to prove some kind of point, but he suppressed the urge. Instead he headed over to the corner where the pay phone was.

"Pines residence, this is Sherman."

"Hi Shermie, it's me. Stanford." He tacked the bit at the end on as an afterthought when he realized it had be months – over a year? No, definitely still just months – since he lasted spoke to Shermie and his voice might not be immediately recognized.

"Ford? It's good to hear from you; it's been a while. Hey Robbie, your Uncle Ford is on the phone!" So perhaps Ford ought to amend that "months" to "too long."

"I can't chat right now. I only called because I have something to ask you about," Ford said.

"Ah, should have known," Shermie said. He didn't sound upset about it, which paradoxically made Ford feel more guilty.

"Sorry. I can call back again in a few days just to talk. Maybe next Tuesday evening?" Ford suggested.

"That would be great. A little time to catch up with my younger brother once in a blue moon is all I ask," Shermie said. "Now what was it you wanted to ask me about?"

"It's actually somewhat related to that," Ford said. He'd been debating ways to gently lead into things in the back of his mind and eventually decided just to dive straight into it. "Can you think of any reason why Stanley would be dead-set against going to see you?"

"Stanley? Have you talked to him recently? Did he finally call you?" Shermie asked.

"No, he didn't call me, and what do you mean finally?" Ford said. Talking with Shermie was supposed to clarify the issue, not make things more suspicious.

"If he didn't call, then did he stop by your house? Is he doing okay; how does he look?"

"No, he didn't come by my house either. For reasons I'm not going to go into, I ended up stranded in Arizona, and Stan happened to drive by and offer me a lift back home. Now tell why you would think he would know my number or where I'm living. I assumed he was secretly in touch with Ma, but has he been in touch with you too? Has the whole family been secretly talking to him behind my back?" Ford said, his voice going high and anxious on the last question. Ma and Stan being in secret conference Ford could understand; she was their mother. But if Stan and Shermie had also been talking to each other this whole time…

"You're being paranoid. I mean, could you really see Pa being secretly in touch with Stanley after what he did?" Shermie made an excellent point, but that didn't mean he and Ma couldn't have been in conspiracy. "No one's been in contact with Stan. He knows your phone number and address because I told him when I happened to run into him once, five years ago. I didn't tell you because it went badly and ended with him running off and disappearing again."

"You still should have told me," Ford insisted.

"Maybe, sorry. It's just after what happened the last time I didn't want to stir up a bunch of emotions for no reason."

"Well they're stirred up now. What happened?" Ford asked.

"Like I said, it was about five years ago. I was watching TV one evening when I saw one of those commercials of Stan's. He was calling himself Stewart Woods and had this really terrible facial hair, but still I recognized my brother. I managed to track him down to the motel he was staying at, shocked the heck out of him. He obviously didn't know I had moved to the Bay Area. We talked for a while and things were going well until I started asking about his living situation and told him he should come stay with me. We got into a huge fight about it, but eventually he agreed to follow me home. I didn't believe him at first, but he swore he would, and he did, pulled up right in front of my house, then as soon as I got out of my car, he took off again. I haven't seen him since. You didn't tell me before, how is he now? Does he look okay?"

"He's fine," Ford said, even as he started to get a sinking feeling in his gut. When they were kids, Shermie had typically greeted all the trouble his younger brothers got into – the fights, the misadventures, the bullying, the mischief – with equanimity. Ford could count on one hand the times Shermie had gotten truly worked up on their account – though when he _had_ gotten worked up… Crampelter had been afraid to even look at Stan and Ford after Shermie had found out about him breaking Ford's "extra freak fingers." This right here, this was starting to sound a lot like getting worked up. "Why? And what you mean 'his living situation?'"

"Ford, Stan's homeless," Shermie said. It was a miracle Ford didn't drop the phone. "Or at least he was five years ago, maybe since then he's –"

"No," Ford interrupted. He could feel his mind running a million miles an hour, clicking together all the little clues he'd seen over the past day, but somehow failed to notice. "No, he's still homeless."

"Shi-oot," Shermie said. "Okay. Okay. I know he's giving you a ride back home right now, but do you think you could try to talk him into coming back to my place afterward? Tell him he's not going to be any kind of burden on me, I just want to help him."

"Why would he go back to your place?" Ford asked.

"Because I'm worried about him. I know you and he have your issues and that's fine, but he's still my brother."

"And he's _my twin_." It didn't make any sense for Stan to drive all the way back to the San Francisco area where the cost of living was higher to live with Shermie in the house where he was trying to raise a family when he could stay in Oregon where Ford's house was just as big and far away from the criminal element.

There was a long, pregnant pause down the other end of the line. "Ford. Are _you_ going to be okay?"

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because I told you Stan was too proud accept my help. He might not accept it from you either," Shermie said.

"I'm his _twin_ ," Ford retorted.

"You sure do know how to make a guy feel special," Shermie said dryly.

"Sorry, but…" Ford trailed off. But they were twins. That was really all there was to it, but it was a lot.

"Yeah I know. The two of you have always been, well, the two of you. I do think that'll make a difference, I just don't know if it'll be enough of one, and I… You're still going to call me on Tuesday, right?"

"Yes, of course," Ford said.

"Good. Call me, let me know how it worked out, and if I don't hear from you, then I'm driving up there myself," Shermie said.

"That's really not necessary."

"You're right, it's not. As long as you call me on Tuesday. I just don't want things to work out poorly and you be left alone in the house, wallowing."

"I would not wallow. I'll be fine. And besides, I won't be alone regardless. I told you last time we talked that my friend Fiddleford is staying with me while we work on a project together," Ford reminded him. In fact it was Fiddleford constant talk of his family that had inspired Ford to call Shermie up the last time he did.

"That's right, you did. Okay, maybe I'll give it until the weekend before I drive up there if I don't hear from you."

"Sherman."

"Stanford." Ford really wasn't going to win one today, was he?

"Fine. It doesn't matter, because I'll be calling you on Tuesday anyway," Ford said.

"That's the spirit. I'll talk to you on Tuesday. Bye Ford."

"Bye," Ford said and hung up the phone. For a second he seriously reconsidered that going to the bathroom idea. A nice private bathroom stall sounded like the perfect place to have a minor panic attack.

No. Stop it. Everything was fine. Stan was homeless, and that was… well, not fine, obviously. But it was something that could be dealt with. Stan would come live with Ford, and then he would have a home and he wouldn't be homeless any more. Problem solved.

Except now Shermie's doubts were starting to worm their way into Ford's brain. Stan had gotten awfully upset and defensive when Ford had merely offered to pay for their trip; he might not like the idea of relying on Ford for a place to live. So, don't mention the homelessness issue at all. Ford could spend the rest of today and tomorrow building up what a great place Gravity Falls was so that Stan would want to stay there of his own volition. Then Ford could offer to let Stan stay with him for a while so they could continue to reconnect and catch up, and a while could turn into indefinitely could turn into until Stan had a solid life path with a roof over his head and a job doing something that was entirely legal. Yes, that was a good, solid plan. That was what Ford was going to do.

He walked back outside to the picnic table, where Stan was looking at him with an expression that was somehow nervous and belligerent at the same time. "Well?"

"Well what?" Ford asked.

"You have something you want to say to me?"

"… I'm done in the bathroom?" Ford said uncertainly. That was where he'd told Stan he'd be, and he couldn't imagine what he was supposed to say after that.

"Okay," Stan said. "Okay. Good. Let's go then." He stood up and started walking back to the car.

"Yes, onward to Gravity Falls," Ford agreed, falling into step with him. "Onward to home." Stan shot him a suspicious look. Ford smiled back as innocently as possible. He was really going to have his work cut out for him.


	5. Chapter 5

In the end Stan's insistence on plowing ahead rather than stopping to visit Shermie worked out well for Ford, as it meant they reached Gravity Falls by 4pm on Monday. That gave them a solid two hours of daylight left, if not longer. It was plenty of time for Ford to enact his plan. "Just pull up anywhere over there," he said, pointing, and Stan did so in spite of the skeptical look he tossed Ford's way. Ford had taken over as navigator sometime an hour or two after they'd crossed the Oregon border, and it was hardly his fault Stan had never bothered to ask where exactly he was giving them direction to.

"This is a parking lot, not a driveway," Stan said. "And I don't remember you mentioning that you lived on the water."

"I don't," Ford assured him blithely before getting out of the car.

Stan had no choice but to follow. "So if this isn't where your house is, then what ae we doing here?"

"I wanted to show you the lake," Ford said. "This is my favorite place in all of Gravity Falls."

"Oh," Stan said. He looked around, taking in the scenery. He looked pleased, which Ford hoped meant he liked the lake too. Ford really hoped it meant he was glad Ford was sharing with him. "It's a nice place."

"It reminds me of when we were kids back at Glass Shard Beach," Ford said.

Stan gave him an incredulous look. "Are you kidding me? This place is way nicer than Glass Shard Beach. For one, there's no glass shards anywhere. Although it's not quite the same as beach with no ocean waves crashing and that pine scent everywhere instead of salt water."

"That's true," Ford said, crestfallen. He wasn't so much upset about the lack as he was about having failed to notice it before. That is, obviously he had known intellectually those things were absent – a lake wasn't the same thing as the ocean – but he'd never felt like they were missing until Stan had pointed it out.

"But hey, it's still a great place," Stan said. He gave Ford an encouraging clap on the shoulder. "It's way nicer than Glass Shard Beach. Maybe you should get a house down here next time."

Now there was a thought. Ford was planning on moving back to the East Coast eventually, once he got his Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness completed and gained world renown for his discovery. He'd been thinking a place in New York City, something high-end and sophisticated, but maybe instead a house on the beach. Somewhere he could hear the waves crashing and breathe in the sea air at all times. Yes, that would be just about perfect for him. He could see himself sitting on the back porch in the morning, sipping coffee and watching the sun come up over the ocean. And he could picture Stan clapping his hand on his shoulder as he blew right past him to the beach to flirt with every female in sight. Ford smiled to himself. "Next time," he agreed. "But for now, I wanted to show you the hidden tunnels behind Trembley Falls."

"Hidden tunnels? Like the kind of hidden tunnels that might be full of treasure?" Stan asked.

"Fiddleford and I didn't see any treasure the last time we went through, but we only saw a small subsection of all there is down there. And an unexplored labyrinthine system of interconnect caves does sound like a very plausible location for hidden treasure." Ford had no particular reason to believe there was any treasure, but he had no particular reason to believe there wasn't any either, and he couldn't say no to the gleam of excitement in Stan's eyes.

"Alright, now you're talking my language! Let's go check out these caves," Stan said.

They weren't able to explore very thoroughly, or hardly at all really, since neither of them had a flashlight or a lantern or even a torch – torches! They absolutely had to bring torches next time they came down here; so much more atmospheric than Ford's stupid lantern – and Stan's lighter was a woefully insufficient light source for any real exploring. It was just as well, both because it gave Stan something to look forward to if he stayed, and it meant after they were done looking around there was still plenty of daylight left. Ford directed Stan back to his house via one of the most circuitous, indirect routes imaginable, all the better to show him all the points of interest around town. Stan seemed confused, bemused, amused, and probably a number of other words also ending in mused by Ford's impromptu tour, but he took the whole thing with good humor. For his part, Ford got more and more excited as they continued, though he did try to outwardly keep his cool. He had committed himself to providing his brother with a place to stay as soon as he learned what dire straits Stan was in yesterday, but now he was really beginning to be able to picture Stan living here with him. It really wasn't a bad picture at all.

All told, it was closing in on six o'clock by the time they finally got back home. "Now, we're at your house," Stan declared as he got out of the car. "One hundred percent, this is definitely the kind of house you would have."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," Ford decided.

"Whatever works for you. It is a nice house. Really big."

"Oh yes, it's very spacious," Ford agreed. That was the perfect segue. He was just too nervous to look at Stan while he segued into it. Instead he started walking to the front door, gesturing for Stan to follow him. "Come on in, I'll give you the tour. Like you said, it's very big. There's actually an additional two levels beneath the main structure for my lab and study, meaning the house itself is mostly living space. Even with Fiddleford living with me while we work on my current project for work, I would say there was easily space for one more person to stay here…?" He let the last sentence trail off meaningfully.

Stan barked out a laugh. "Is that why you've been dragging me all around town showing it off, because you were trying to butter me up for a visit? You nerd. Yeah, sure, I'd happy to stay for a couple of days. I can see all that weird stuff you've been telling me about in person, and we can track down that hidden treasure."

"Great!" Ford enthused, with not a small amount of relief. That had gone way easier than he'd been expecting. He flashed Stan a grin before continuing on up the porch steps. "It'll be fun having you here for a few days, or longer even." He kept it light and breezy, wanting to keep the timeline very open-ended without sounding like it was anything serious.

Stan didn't follow him up on to the porch. Ford glanced back at him to find his expression had gone very, very neutral. That probably wasn't a good sign. "Exactly how long were you expecting me to stay?"

"A while?" Ford said uncertainly. "As long as you need – want. As long as you want to stay."

Stan's face didn't just darken; it went positively thunderous. Definitely not a good sign. "I knew it. I fucking – I never should have let you talk to Shermie."

"Shermie, who said anything about Shermie?" That came out about twice as quickly as it ought to have to not sound suspicious.

"You did, yesterday. You were nagging me about going to see him, and then all the sudden you give up and go 'to the bathroom?' I'm not an idiot, Ford," Stan snapped.

"I never said you were," Ford protested.

"Really? Because I know you don't think you're a good liar. I knew you were calling Shermie, and I knew he was going to make a big fucking deal over nothing."

"Shermie doesn't make big deals out of nothing."

"He is this time. And he got in your head, and now you're making a big deal over nothing too. You don't want me to stay here with you, you just feel bad for your dumb, sweaty brother and feel like you have to take care me. I don't need your fucking pity. I'm fine; I can take care of myself. I got you home like I said I would, and now I'm going to fuck off like I know you want me to. See ya around, Ford." Stan capped his speech by flipping Ford off, then turned around and stormed of back to his car.

Ford started to chase after him, but he wasn't paying any attention to where he was going and ran smack into the porch railing. "Stanley!" he cried, but Stan didn't even look at him.

Maybe Stan was right; maybe Ford was pitying him. He felt bad for Stan certainly, felt that he had done better than him and maybe the offer of help came from a place of condescension. Maybe Shermie was right that Stan was too proud to take charity, and maybe Ford should have known that from the start. Maybe Stan was a grown adult who could take care of himself, who didn't want help and didn't need help, and maybe Ford should be a grown adult as well and accept Stan's decision. Ford's hands clenched around the porch railing so tight he could feel the wood splintering. Maybe.

And maybe Ford was a terrible, selfish, immature person because he didn't care about any of that. All he cared about was that Stan was leaving and _Ford didn't want him to go._ "Do you know why I had to go to college at Backupsmore?" The words were blurted out with no more intention or thought than the pressing need to make Stan stop.

Stan had reached his car by that point, but when he heard Ford's question he whirled around to glare at him. "What? What the fuck is this? I won't accept your pity, so you figure you'll go right back to being an asshole and rubbing all my mistakes in my face? Yeah, I know why you had to go to some shitty college. Because I broke your science fair project and deliberately destroyed your dreams because I'm just a horrible shitty person. But the good news is you're never going to have to see me again. Goodbye Ford, and fuck you." Stan yanked the door to his car open.

"That's not it," Ford said desperately. "That's not why."

"Well you've got five seconds to explain it to me, or I'm leaving," Stan said, hand still on the door.

"That's not – I can't –" Ford couldn't possibly explain everything in five seconds. He could barely even breathe right now.

Stan gave him a long look. He closed the door again and leaned up against the car, arms crossed. "Fine. I'm listening."

"Okay. Okay." Ford took in a shaky breath and forced himself to loosen his grip on the railing. "The broken science fair project is the reason I didn't get into West Coast Tech, but there are a lot of schools in between that and Backupsmore, where the main selling feature is its mostly bug-free dorms. If it had just been the one project, then I would have gotten into one of those, but… Right after the science fair I was so furious with you." He could feel it still, the blazing anger, strident and self-righteous. "I stayed that way for about a week. Then in history class we had a pop quiz and I looked over at you, because you were always a little better at history and I wasn't sure if you were going to need help or not. But when I turned, you weren't there. Obviously. No one else was there either. It was like you were home with the flu, and everyone left your desk alone because you'd be back in a few days. Hell, before that that's what I thought; that in few days you'd come crawling back home. But for some reason right then is when it hit me that you wouldn't. You were _gone_. And I just… stopped."

"I'm having a hard time believing you stopped being mad at me after a week, when it's ten years later here and you still seemed like you're pretty pissed off," Stan said.

"I didn't mean I stopped being mad at you, I mean I _stopped_. I stopped going to school, stopped doing my homework, stopped eating, stopped sleeping, there were days I didn't even get out of bed, just lied there and stared at the underside of the top bunk. It wasn't even that I was sad, I just couldn't find it in me to do anything. Ma was sobbing over me all the time, and Pa would scream and yell, and I remember sometimes Shermie would stop by and talk at me for hours and hours, and I couldn't connect to any of it. I felt nothing." Ford could still remember what that felt like too, the utter hopelessness and emptiness, and maybe that was the reason why he had stayed angry at Stan for so long; the alternative was too frightening to risk.

"After a few months, I slowly started to get better. I started to feel again. But by that point my grades were wrecked. Honestly, it was a miracle I graduated high school on time. There was no chance of me being accepted into any of those better schools at that point. Backupsmore was the only place left that would take me. That's why I had to go there."

Stan looked shocked and overwhelmed, and Ford couldn't blame him after he'd just had all that thrown at him. That was not how Ford wanted Stan to find out about that. In point of fact, Ford hadn't wanted him to find out at all; that fell very squarely under the umbrella of things he did not want to talk about. But there it was. "I didn't know. Shermie never mentioned…" Stan faltered, clearly at a loss for words. "Look, are you trying to tell me you need me to stay? That that's going to happen again if I leave?"

There was a part of Ford that was desperately pushing him to say yes. Insisting that if he said yes, then Stan would stay. Stan had always considered it his job to take care of Ford. Look at what had happened just now: Ford had shown up out of nowhere after ten years of no communication, and Stan had barely even hesitated before offering to drive him halfway across the country, despite Ford's less than gracious behavior at the time. If Ford said he needed him, then Stan would stay.

There was another part of Ford, the prideful part, screaming at him to say no. No, he was fine, and really the last time hadn't been as bad as he'd made it out to be either. They were all just making big deals out of nothing.

Somehow through the noise in his head Ford managed to grab ahold of his better nature and answer honestly. "No. I don't think so. It's been ten years; I've learned how to live without you. I don't need you anymore."

There, exactly there, that was the answer. It was a connection so blindly obvious and brilliant that Ford couldn't help but repeat himself. "I don't need you anymore."

Stan was looking puzzled, either having not made the connection Ford had or not realized the significance of it. "Good. So we're all on the same page here."

"Yes. I don't need you and you don't need me." Ford waited a beat. "Do you want to stay anyway?"

"I – what?" Stan said.

"You said you don't need my help. Okay, I believe you." Ford was somewhat less willing to believe Stan didn't need anyone's help, but he could admit there was no reason Ford absolutely had to be the one helping him. "I'm asking if you wanted to stay here with me anyway."

"Me wanting to be with you was never the problem," Stan grumbled. He crossed his arms and glared at Ford. "You don't want me here, not really."

"Yes, I do," Ford said.

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I –" Nope, Ford was not going to get into a childish argument. If he and his brother were going to argue over something stupid, then they were going to do it like adults. "You're the one who just accused me of being a terrible liar. So tell me, am I lying right now? Completely separate of any concern I feel about your current living conditions, I want you to stay here." His voice was calm, confident, and self-assured, and he met Stan's gaze square on.

Stan looked away first. "Okay, so maybe you want me around right now, but you're going to get sick of me, just like you did last time."

"No, I didn't." So much for no childish arguments.

"Yes, you did. You wanted to go to a school on the other side of the country just to get away from me," Stan said.

"That's not–"why he had wanted to go to West Coast Tech, but Ford couldn't deny that putting some space between him and Stan hadn't added a little appeal to it. Not because he was sick of Stan, but because he'd wanted some room to be just Ford and was finding being a twin to be a bit suffocating, but Stan wasn't suffocating, just… Ugh, the whole thing was far too complicated to understand it fully himself, much less to explain to Stan right here and right now while he was still about a minute away from getting into his car and driving off into the night. Again. "Even if we accepted that you're right about me getting sick of you, which you're not, and if we assumed that necessarily meant I'm going to get sick of you again in the future, which it doesn't, it still took seventeen years to get to that point last time. At the very least can we agree not to burn our bridges before we even get to them?"

"But burning bridges is the only thing I'm good at," Stan said.

"No it's not, and this conversation is not going to go anywhere if you keep saying things that are patently untrue." Honestly.

Stan snorted, but it was a sound of amusement, not disgust. "You're ridiculous, you know that? Yeah, maybe it is all a pack lies, but that's what I do. I'm a fucking liar. You sure you want me hanging around riding on your coattails?"

"You won't be riding on my coattails; we're going to get you a job." Stan didn't want charity and wouldn't be happy with charity, so Ford wasn't going to give him charity. He was going to help him get back on his feet so he could be a productive, contributing member of their household who could take pride in his accomplishments.

"A job doing what?" Stan asked.

"I don't know. What did you do for your last job?"

Stan gave Ford a distinctly unimpressed look. "Yeah, you don't want me doing that here."

Right, dumb question. "Well, I'm sure you must have had some jobs over the past ten years that weren't completely illegal. What's something you were good at? And so help me Stan, if you say burning bridges, I'm going to come over there and punch you."

"I told you Ford, I'm a liar. Being a con man and scamming people out of their money is the only 'job' I've ever been good at."

"Okay, fine. So you'll start a carnival and swindle people out of their hard-earned cash that way," Ford said, thinking of the side show that had come to town last Saturday where, incidentally, Ford had encountered the portal potty that had started this whole thing.

"Wow, sound more excited about that idea," Stan said sarcastically.

"I don't know; it was just the first thing to pop into my head. We'll talk it out later and come up with something better. Or not and I'll just learn to love – tolerate the carnival."

Stan tapped his foot on the ground and drummed his fingers on the roof of the car. Ford waited. "This is a terrible idea. This is the kind of idea I would come up with." He sighed. "You know if I stay, sooner or later we're going to have to talk about all that junk we don't want to talk about."

Ford grimaced. He really, really was not looking forward to that. "I know. But we've weathered worse storms before. Probably. We'll manage." He smiled tentatively and threw out one last hopeful reminiscence of days gone past and, with any luck, days to come. "Wherever we go, we go together."

"Goddamn it, Ford," Stan said, closing his eyes and half-heartedly knocking his fist against his car. He crossed the lawn over to the porch, his head ducked so Ford couldn't see his expression from his current slightly higher vantage point. Ford's entire body felt like it was on pins and needles, waiting, hoping, needing to know what Stan's reaction was going to be.

Stan looked up smiling, and held his hand aloft. "High six?"

Ford grinned, the giddy expression bursting across his face. "High six."


End file.
